1.

 

Let us go then, you and I,

When the dawn is spread out across the sky.

On certain half deserted, late night flights,

The muttering plights,

Of restless, sterile nights

In extended stay hotels.

 

To meetings that follow tedious arguments

Of contractual intent

That lead us to another and another

Underwhelming question

Or two.

 

On the speaker-phone the voices come and go

With never a mention of Michelangelo.

 

And indeed there will be time

For deadlines and timelines and project design lines.

There will be time, too much time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.

To present, to pretend, to extend 

A hundred visions and revisions

To a hundred indecisions.

 

On the speaker-phone the voices come and go

With never a mention of Michelangelo.

 

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair

And ponder, should I dye my hair?

Should my jeans be tight or loose?

What are Uggs and who is Juicy Juice?

And will the L.A. agent care?

 

Do I dare

Disturb the admin to the assistant’s,

assistant to the universe, at all?

And if I do, will he or she

Return my call.

 

2.

 

For I have known them, known them all

My day job’s days

Mornings and afternoons inert

I have measured out my life with shovelfuls of dirt.

 

And I have known the eyes already, all young

The eyes that fix you in a formulated pitch

A single, high concept, through line,

Active characters and a third act switch

And when I am pinned to the couch and hung

How should I have begun

To spit out the butt-ends of my stories bones.

 

How could I presume,

And why did I digress,

And a hundred other questions

About my lack of talent and success.

 

Shall I stay, and say that I have gone

On construction sites and mid-night flights

And watched the scuttling reader board displays

Across the floors of silent terminals

Among fat, lonely men with lap-tops

Listening for delays.

 

Do I admit the anonymity of airports,

The empty bars,

The unobtrusive distance of work colleagues

Are tempting, easy vices.

Do I have the strength

To force the moment to it’s crisis.

But though I rage and scheme

And ring my hands in anguish.

Does it really matter?

Am I talented, can I command a room

Am I getting fatter.

 

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker

And sometimes on the speaker-phone, I hear the young men snicker

And in short, I am afraid.

 

 

 

 

3.

 

And would it have been worth it, after all

Would it have been worth while

After the hours on the keyboard

Wishing and missing to write

Exactly what I mean

Is the magic lantern real?

Or shadows of a dream?

 

And have I really tried?

Have I tried hard enough

To squeeze the universe into a ball
Or have I simply said,

“That is not what I meant,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

 

Not since high school have I

Aspired to be Prince Hamlet

In a City of Prince Hamlets

I beg the favor of Attendant Lords’ attendants.

Deferential? Glad to be of use? An easy tool?

Yes, yes and yes

In short, the fool.

I grow old… I grow old…

Should my designer shirt be rumpled or have a fold

 

Should I wear sunglasses on top of my head?

Are they the right shape, out of date?

Am I dead.

 

I grow old and my sons grow old

I should come home and skip stones

On a wild, Northwestern beach

I have grown weary of Santa Monica’s roller blade screech

I will listen hard for the Mermaids singing, each to each

And if they do not sing to me

I will stop asking why.

 

I will linger in the chambers of my true life

My friends and my home town

Where human voices wake me, before I drown.